The Indiana Jones of Physics
by Tafadhali
Summary: GALAXY QUEST. An AU in which Jason and the gang are professors. Hijinks ensue.


The weekend before the rough draft of Jason Nesmith's masters thesis was due, he was fucking a hot blonde undergrad in a supply closet when he came to the sobering realization that he had slept with seventy-eight girls in his tenure at USC – three of those at one memorable Victory Bell after-party – but had written only four pages of "Gravity: Not So Heavy."

But Jason's unofficial motto was "Never give up, never surrender," so he did what any self-respecting guy who had found himself through the vagaries of fortune – he'd gotten that from his friend Alexander, an i _actor /i _ – doing graduate work in physics would do: He committed gross academic fraud.

To be fair, his roommate had been snorting coke off that notebook the last time Jason had seen him with it, so it was a pretty safe bet that Zach wouldn't miss it much. And it's not like Jason was planning to pursue a career in academics. Physicists were not notorious for being pussy magnets. So Jason beefed up Zach's notes, added some pop culture references and humorous asides – seriously, how could a coke head be that boring? – slapped a catchy title on it, and went back to playing Chicago covers with his tribute band at the campus café.

But it turned out Zach must have been pretty smart after all, because the next thing Jason knew he was getting published. And topping bestsellers lists. The i _L.A. Times_ /i compared him to Feynman and i _Rolling Stone_ /i interviewed him about his synth collection. And when Professor Mathesar, president of Thermia College, called Jason up, offered him a tenure-track position, and said he's the college's only hope, who was Jason to say no? Turns out being a physicist can be just like being a movie star.

Seventeen years later, and Jason would say it isn't that different from being a grad student, either. The T.A.'s are still nubile and willing, the football after-parties are still wild, and, with a bit of charm and cunning, he can still get other people to do the bulk of his work for him. Plus, the undergrads love him. He's got a whole gang of groupies, who know more about string theory than he knows about i _physics_ /i , who still think he's a god. He's pretty sure that when Brandon sits in the front row, he write "I love you" on his eyelids, which is creepy, yeah, but still. He hasn't published a substantive work since 1982, but Jason Nesmith is the Indiana fucking Jones of the physics world.

When Alexander Dane was twenty-five years old he played Richard III with the Royal Shakespeare Company. He got five curtain calls.

Then he moved to bloody Hollywood for some big budget modern-day i _Lear_ /i It fell through, but Alexander found himself hanging around, "pursuing the craft," playing bit roles in low quality television series. He'd been in L.A. seven years – practically long enough to be a native – when he met Jason Nesmith at an opening night party for a revival of i _Travesties_ /i . Jason was by the punch bowl, making out with the girl who'd played Gwendolyn. They jostled the punch table at an inopportune moment and ruined Alexander's new custom-made suit. Jason apologized by giving Alex a lift home to change and taking him out to Del Taco, Alexander's treat. Alexander hated Jason immediately, and made a point of telling him so when they dined together every weekend.

Two years later, Jason got famous. He took Alexander out for steak, made some grimace-y faces about Alexander's latest career choices. He winked, said, "The show must go on," and dragged Alexander along with him to a technical institute in the middle of nowhere, where Alexander has been teaching unwashed i _engineering_ /i majors who think of Hamlet as "that guy Mel Gibson played once" for twenty years.

Every single one of them seems to remember that one fucking cameo Alexander did in a regrettable 1970s sci-fi show, and every time some (nebbish, hopefully i _friendless_ /i ) undergrad who wouldn't know pentameter from his arse drops in during office hours to say, "By Grabthar's Hammer, you will be avenged," Alexander finds himself wishing fervently that he had given in to his first temptation and punched Jason Nesmith in his charming bloody face.

If Alexander had stayed in London, he would probably be a fucking knight by now.

Jason Nesmith has known Gwen DeMarco for fifteen years and, in that time, he has not actually looked her in the eyes once. Even the first time they tried to get married, in 1985, when her father was walking her down the aisle in a four thousand dollar Versace dress, his eyes had stayed firmly affixed to her rack. Until, that is, they'd moved on the greener pastures of her bridesmaid Alexis' tits right around when the priest started talking about sickness and health. At that point, Gwen had just started giggling uncontrollably in the middle of Our Lady of Eternal Sorrows, in front of God, her father, and everyone. She'd kissed Jason on the cheek, kneed him in the balls (it had seemed the thing to do), and gone to the nearest bar, where she drank appletinis with an exchange student named Paolo until dawn. (The second time they tried to get married was in 1991. They met coincidentally in Vegas over spring break, drank vodka shots until they could stand each other's company, and woke up in the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel. Gwen caught the next flight to Hawaii.)

Gwen is sure that there is a psychological explanation for why Jason is such an egomaniacal prick.

"I know that more seats in my classes are filled by my push-up bra than by Piaget, but, but, you don't get to be psych professor for twenty-five years without realizing that some people are. Are just fucked up," she says to Alex during one of their drinking nights. (She and Alex drink together a lot.)

"If I were to direct a production of i _Jason Nesmith_ /i ," says Alexander around a mouthful of vodka stinger, "I would represent his psyche with a tremendous, walking _cock_, bedecked in medals and i _punch_ /i ." When Alexander is drunk, he orates. "And there would be a Greek chorus of i _cheerleaders_ /i ."

"I ran a statistical analysis and there's a roughly 1/29,500 chance that Jason will die while having sex with a Greek chorus of cheerleaders," says Guy Fleegman from the next table over. Guy did some stats for an article of Jason's in the mid-'80s, and has considered himself part of Jason's social circle ever since.

Technically, Gwen and Alexander officially voted themselves out of Jason's social circle after the Christmas '89 party where Jason hit on Gwen's sister i _and_ /i Alexander's boyfriend (either out of spite or because James really did have long, curly locks). Alexander says that that is where their responsibilities towards Guy ended, but Gwen feels kind of bad for the kid. Last year, the Stat department forgot him on their website until Gwen e-mailed them about it; then they listed him as "Guy Chamberlin."

Guy has been passed up for tenure every year for the last eleven years.

Gwen pats the seat next to her and gestures for Guy to join them. Alexander rolls his eyes and yells for another vodka stinger. Gwen makes a mental note to write a paper on the psychology of Ladies Who Lunch and e-mail it to Alex tomorrow – she can probably get Guy to invent statistics for it.

­­

Fred's only about forty-five, but no one is really sure exactly when he started teaching at Thermia. Presumably, he did his graduate work somewhere, but he was there in 1982 when Jason and Alex left the Golden Coast to live near the Canadians, and in 1984 when Gwen DeMarco finally got sick of Jersey and left Rutgers.

Everybody loves Fred, and Fred seems to love pretty much everybody. When Jason twisted his ankle i _skateboarding_ /i in '97, Fred was the one who took him to the clinic and bought him jellybeans afterwards. (Alexander sent a note, but it said, "That's what you get for thinking you're still twenty. Pity it wasn't your knee." Jason's e-mail said, "aw, alex, i didn't know you cared. show must go on. jn" Alexander cast Jason's TA as the lead in i _Antigone_ /i and booked a special performance two-hundred miles away the weekend before midterm grades were due in.)

Last fall, Jane Doe arrived at Thermia, straight out of grad school up in Canada. She was stiff, awkward, and strangely literal, but she was a math professor, so no one thought much of it.

Within a month she and Fred had been caught making out in the chemistry labs, fourth floor supply closet, library stacks, and the weight room. That spring, the senior prank was to move all of Jane's stuff (three boxes worth) into Fred's house. She never bothered to move it back.

(Fred and Jane will get married in five years, when Katelynn, a sophomore in Jane's Calculus II class, starts a Facebook community, "If this community gets 10000 members Prof. Kwan and Prof. Doe will get married." But first, Tommy Webber has to explain Facebook to them.)

Tommy Webber, ex-engineering whiz kid extraordinaire, was one of Jason Nesmith's first students. Tommy likes to think that he knew Jason was a jackass even then, but, hell, he was fourteen. He was the frickin' ring bearer at Jason and Gwen's first wedding. (Jason and Gwen didn't know too many kids.)

Actually, the wedding may have been about when he started to realize that Jason was a total tool.

Finding himself Jason's subordinate in the Physics and Engineering department when he became a professor hadn't helped much.

"Fred, I know he's known me since I wore Captain Taggart undies, but I'm a leader in my field now! Is it too much to ask that he not send me for coffee at the beginning of every department meeting?" Tommy slides out from under Fred Kwan's desk. "Also, it's 1999. Not that I don't love your girlfriend's coffee cake, but how come I'm over here fixing your computer every other week? It's called technology, man, and I hear it's the future."

Fred emerges from the kitchen and hands Tommy a cup of tea. "See, man, that's why we have group hugs in my department."

"Why, technology? Or Nesmith? Plus, I hate to break it to you, but you run the i _Philosophy_ /i department."

"No…um…it's, like, psychological. Gwen was..." Fred takes a hit from one of the joints he keeps in a baggie in his top desk drawer. "Gwen was...This is really good shit. Want some?"

"Nah, I got a meeting with Mathesar, and some of us like having jobs."

Technically, Tommy has a meeting with Gwen, but when he tells Fred things like that, Fred says things like, "I think it's great that you're going for it, man," and "Gwen is like...a flower. No, like kelp," even when Tommy (who does not want to know where the kelp metaphor is going) says that Gwen is like his i _mom_ /i . Like his mom if she were a blonde chick with an amazing rack and an encyclopedic knowledge of childhood emotional disorders.

Gwen usually is a better audience for Jason-ranting, but today Jason told her she was the prettiest girl at the fair or something, because all she says is, "You gotta admit, they really do love him."

Tommy snorts. "Yeah, almost as much as he loves himself."

Later this year, internal politics at Thermia College will explode when some asshole named Robin Sarris steals President Mathasar's job. Jason will realize that he didn't know how good he had it back when nobody expected anything of him, and he'll turn to old friends to help him reinstate the man who didn't fire them all years ago. They will reconnect and bond; he will flirt with Gwen and try not to sleep with too many TA's. When Mathasar retires in a year or two, Jason will become the new president and discover that it requires him to fake a lot less then pretending to understand relativity.

Right now, though, Jane and Fred are curled up on the couch watching i _Cube_ /i for the ninety-seventh time (and it still freaks Fred the fuck out). Tommy and Guy are in the middle of a really intense Super Mario Bros. marathon, until Jason calls Tommy about taking care of the next staff meeting for him _four hours before the meeting convenes_. Gwen and Alexander are grading papers together, but this would have been Gwen's wedding anniversary if she had been crazy and stupid, so in about thirty-seven minutes they will give into the inevitable and whip out the appletinis.

Jason is sleeping with a TA.


End file.
